


danger

by Cypherr



Series: Hollow [15]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Physical hurt/comfort, Self-Harm, dadza has arrived it's okay y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27718225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cypherr/pseuds/Cypherr
Summary: Pack was gone. Pack was taken. Pack was in danger and it was all his fault
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade, Clay | Dream & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Hollow [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958773
Comments: 26
Kudos: 686





	danger

**Author's Note:**

> finally got this part out and now I'm back on track for this series  
> also lmao my notes on the last part were so angry???? I'm sorry lmao my BG was so low i had no idea i was not having a good time  
> also!! explaining having comms and messenger parrots in the same universe: comms are for quick messages, and alerts, but only alerts you have turned on will sound (like only certain people's death messages.) for longer things, like have been sent by Dream and now Wil, a written letter is mandatory

The streets of L'manburg were surprisingly busy, especially for this time of the day- just before sunset began. People scampered around his large form, some even stepping off the wooden paths just to avoid him. He was grateful for his towering form, however, as it allowed him to see the crowd as a whole. He was still on the hunt for Wilbur, as the bastard had yet to be found despite how long they had been searching. Today was no more fruitful than the last, or the one before that. There was nary a trace of the man in the whole of the SMP. Not in L'manburg, not in the Holy Lands, and not in Dream's kingdom (because it was his, even if he may not hold the crown.)

He scanned the crowd once more, planning to call it a day and head back to Tommy, but the squawk of a parrot stopped him in his tracks. A glance up revealed a deep blue bird circling him from above. He held an armored arm up, watching as it slowly descended to land on the netherite plating that covered his forearm. He quickly untied the letter attached to its leg with deft, hooved fingers, paying no mind to the creature as it flew off back to wherever it came from. Quickly unsealing the hastily written letter, he scanned his eyes over the chicken scratch.

_My Dearest Technoblade,_

_I'll keep it brief, as I can hear my poor boy whining for me to return from here._

_You have failed. All your efforts- two of the best fighters in all of Minecraft- and yet, Tommy is within my grasp._

_He will not be taken away this time. I will not let him be taken. He is mine, just as I am his Wilbs. He is my power to hold, not yours, and certainly not Dream's._

_Meet me in the field at midnight tonight- you know the one._

_Just wanted to brag,_

_Wilbur Soot_

Dread grew in his stomach at each new word. He- he needed to leave, _now_. He could not break in public. (Somebody was sure to perish.)

He whipped around, red velvet cape snapping behind him, braided, pink hair following suit. His vision narrowed in on the spruce trees ahead of him and he stalked towards them, putting all his effort into holding his instincts off. (They rammed against the barrier in his mind like a tsunami, cracking it with each new earth-shattering hit.)

He was hardly past the first line of trees when he allowed himself to break, head-butting the trunk of a spruce with a guttural roar. _It wasn't enough. Pack was gone. Pack was taken. Pack was in danger and it was all his fault_. He seethed, nostril flared, ears pressed flat against the sides of his skull, and tusks pared in all their menacing glory as he tore a golden ax for his inventory, swinging it with all his might against the rough bark again and _again and again._

_Pack was gone. Pack was taken. Pack was in danger and it was all his fault._ He roared again, throwing the mangled tool to the ground and gripping his pink locks harshly, tugging until all he could feel was white-hot pain. _It pissed him off_. With a snort, he unhooked his iron dagger from his belt, chopping the pink off at the base of his skull, watching in apathy as shortened strands fell just in front of his eyes, hardly reaching his cheekbones.

_Pack was gone. Pack was taken. Pack was in danger and it was all his fault_. He reared a fist back, punching the battered tree in front of him, time after time, long after dark keratin had cracked and his knuckles were bruised, bloody, and likely broken. He didn't stop until his fists were _grabbed_ from behind. He couldn't even turn around to punt the fucker who _dared_ to touch him because there were mighty, purple-tinted, gray wings wrapped around his middle, keeping him in place. He growled, still attempting to buck the bastard off.

"Techno!" He threw his head back, relishing in the satisfying, painful crack of a skull against his own.

"Technoblade! Calm down!" He tried again, but the person must have moved.

"Technoblade, I am your father! Listen to me!" Father? He stopped thrashing, instead stilling, but still unwilling to give in to his captor.

"It's me, Phil, Tech. It's okay. Listen to my voice." They began a tune of sorts. The words were garbled and strange-sounding, but it was almost melodic in a way- enchanting.

He whined, high pitched and broken, collapsing in his father's embrace. He continued to whine- interrupted only by the occasional snort- as the hands around his wrists left, and the wings were replaced with his arms as they sunk to the torn apart ground.

"Can you tell me what happened, Tech?" Father whispered, voice still lined with the echoes of that garbled language he had spoken moments before. He shakily reached into his pocket, pulling out the now crumpled note he had received earlier from- from-

"Oh, Tech. We'll fic this, okay? We'll get him back. We'll save him."

"Da-Anger," he croaked, voice cracking, vocal cords rough after his harsh treatment of them. _Pack was in danger_.

"I know, Tech. I know. It'll be okay, though. I promise. We'll get through this." There was a lapse in the conversation- if you could even call it that- as he hiccupped and sobbed in Phil's arms, something he hadn't done since before Phil found Wilbur. Gentle, clawed hands raked through his hair, massaging his scalp as he tried to calm himself down. His ears twitched relentlessly, causht up between trying to press themselves flat or drooping, causing his numerous piercings to clank against each other. Eventually, he managed to compose himself. He still sniffled, his ears still twitched, and he wasn't sure if he could speak, bu he was as calm as he was going to get.

"Let's go back to the White House, okay? We'll meet up with Dream and we can plan from there." He hummed, but made no attempt to move from where he was leaned back against Phil, which elicited a chuckle from the blonde man.

"Techno, as much as I would love to carry you, you outgrew me when you were sixteen. Get up." He grumbled but complied nonetheless, slowly dragging a hoof across the already torn ground as he waited for his father to stand. A clawed hand rested at the small of his back.

"Come on, Techno. Let's go."

-

"Shit! Fuck- what happened, man?" Was Dream's first reaction as he shot up from where he was leaned against one of the numerous pillars at the front of the White House. Techno was sure he looked rough- hair a small fraction of the length it was before, forehead bruised and battered, hands beaten beyond recognition. Phil handed the other blonde the letter, continuing to lead him inside. Dream hurried behind them, quickly taking in the information the crumpled parchment provided.

Once inside, Phil led him to a sitting room, laying him down on the plush green couch near the unlit fireplace. He slumped over, defeated, taking great comfort in the hand that had resumed its previous rhythm in his hair. He hummed, closing his eyes, feeling the heavy warmth of a wing lay over him from Phil's positon on the floor beside him, and the soothing prickling of a healing potion being massaged into his hands.

"Go to sleep, Techno. We'll take care of this."

(He trusted his dad, so he did.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking, after i finish this series- whenever that may be- i compile it all into a single work, fixing consistency issues and old writing and the like  
> idk tho


End file.
